


Vampire!Coldflash Collection

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: Coldflash tumblr prompts [4]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Blood Drinking, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connected one-shots of vampire tumblr prompts :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fancy Meeting You Here

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Yey prompts. K so Coldflash, “i was feeling a little off but you definitely turned me on” or “your body is 75% water and i’m thirsty”.
> 
> [Joker: that's either a bad pick-up lines au or a vampire au. Imma do both.]

Some things just don’t change. Leonard Snart’s horrible sense of humor is definitely at the top of that list.

They’ve been dancing around each other for about two centuries now. And damn it, Len used the same lines every time they meet up.

“Your body’s made of seventy-five percent water, and I’m thirsty.”

Barry groans. And here he’d been enjoying a lovely evening in Jitters after years of existing outside of Central City. And here is his favorite vampire waltzing in like he owns the place, even with a dorky line like that.

(He wishes he could say it didn’t work.)

Summoning up his best scowl, Barry says, “Just making sure—I mean, you do know you turned me already, right? 1815, duel shot gone wide? Ringing any bells?”

He has no qualms pointing this out in the middle of the café. People instinctively refuse to accept anything beyond their mundane lives, no matter how many of them yearn to see the impossible. Sure enough, not a single head is turned his way.

Len slides into the seat across from him. “Changes nothing, Scarlet.”

And here Barry thought they could go one conversation without—“How many times are you going to call me that?”

“When it stops amusing me.”

“So, never. Got it.” Just like that, the tension between them fades; they’re not enemies all the time, anyway. “You missed home too? Haven’t seen you in decades.”

Len inclines his head in response. “Freshly returned from Russia. Lovely weather. You should visit sometime.”

“The cold doesn’t bother you, Len, I get it.”

“Make another Frozen joke and I will ice you.”

Barry isn’t at all phased. Instead, he leans forward with a cheeky grin and murmurs, “No you won’t. Because you missed me too.”

Len copies his movements. His smirk grows, but there’s a familiar fondness there. “You always were a favorite of mine, I won’t deny it.”

They kiss once, twice. Barry pulls back with a half-hearted glare, wiping his blood from his bottom lip.

“Really?”

Now Len’s smirk is just infuriating. “I told you I’m thirsty.”


	2. When it Rains, it Pours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry's starving. Fortunately for him, Len and his Rogues are back in Central City.
> 
>  
> 
> [Anonymous asked: If you're still taking prompts, more vampire!Len stuff?]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS ACTUAL GARBAGE JUST WARNING YOU RIGHT NOW

Vampires were usually solitary by nature, yet another difference between them and werewolves, their natural rivals. Still, that didn’t mean there weren’t any nests out there. Immortality was, if nothing else, incredibly lonely; having someone, or a group of someones, to share it with is borderline therapeutic.

Barry doesn’t have a nest, per se; really, it’s just a group of other creatures he likes to hang out with every now and again. Nevertheless, there was only so much a banshee, an ice sorceress, and a forest nymph could offer in ways of understanding the solitude of eternity when they only had a few centuries left in them (which he tried not to think about every time he saw them).

Now that he knows Len’s back in Central City, he also knows where he can find what he’s looking for. His Sire has a nest, a tight-knit, notorious group called the Rogues. It’s grown little by little over the centuries, and when Len and Barry are more of a mated pair than sworn enemies, they welcome him into their fold as easily as slipping on a well-worn glove.

Winter’s snow hasn’t come yet, instead autumn offers a last “fuck you” come Saturday night, pouring buckets of rain on Barry’s head even as he speeds towards the old hideout. He’s twice as irritated because he’s had nothing but Jitters coffee for two weeks. Missed his bi-monthly quota for blood consumption by four days.

He’s big on consent, though, and not many people are looking to get their blood sucked when they need it to warm up in these cold months. The Rogues go by the same code, but somehow the scent of warm blood caresses his nose when he reaches the door of their safehouse. How do they always find the willing ones before him? Must be a pack thing.

Len’s opening the door before Barry can so much as raise his hand to knock. His expression is cool as ever, but there’s a pinched look around his eyes that indicates he senses how thirsty Barry is. Behind him, Lisa perks up in surprise.

“Look, Lenny! A soaked puppy! Can we keep him?” she coos.

Mick peers in from around the corner, wrinkling his nose. “When’d you feed last? You reek.”

“Everybody chill,” says Len before anyone else in the nest can speak. Barry zeroes in on the blood still coloring his lips, dripping as he talks. Absently he registers he’s licking his own lips in anticipation. “Well, well, well, Scarlet. When it rains for you, it pours.”

Barry swallows, wincing at the gritty heat burning his throat. “Can I come in?” he rasps.

Len smirks, “ _Please_ do. We were just getting bored.”

A relieved noise leaves him as he escapes into the house. Shawna’s there in a blink, worry all over her face.

“You didn’t answer Mick’s question,” she fusses, taking in his blown pupils and bruised eyes.

“The fourth,” Barry mumbles, “Fed on the fourth.”

Shawna curses. “Someone get a blood pack—”

“Not necessary,” Len interrupts. Barry hears his footsteps before he’s abruptly guided into his mate’s lap on the nearest couch. An arm is stuffed into his mouth. “I’ve had plenty enough to go around.”

Barry can count the amount of times he’s fed from Len on one hand. He must look worse than he thought.

Lisa rolls her eyes. “You and your terrible flirting, I swear. Mick, sweetheart, while you’re up, get me another pack, would you?”

Hartley smirks from where he’s leaning against the couch opposite Len and Barry. He watches as Barry sinks against Len with a moan, eyes drifting shut as he takes gulps of blood from Len’s arm. The taste of his Sire’s blood is like winter itself, no matter who he’s fed from or when. It’s  _perfect_.

“You know,” he says, eyeing the way Barry starts grinding against Len’s thigh, “if we filmed this, I bet we could get ten million hits on a porn site.”

Mark snorts, turning up the volume on the TV in hopes to drown out Barry’s incessant moaning. Hartley’s right; you’d think he was getting fucked with the way he responds to Len’s blood.

Lisa sighs. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Lenny. Thanks, Mick.”

Mick’s the only one who bothers to sit next to their fearless leaders. He’s never affected by them, but he’s not asexual; it’s weird.

“You’re gonna need one of these,” he says, placing a blood pack next to Len. An absent hum answers him. “Or don’t take care of yourself. That’s fine.”

Len scoffs into Barry’s hair. “Thank you, Mick,” he mocks. Then Barry takes a particularly vicious pull and he hisses, “Easy there, Barry.”

Barry whimpers. Hartley snaps his fingers, saying, “Where’s the popcorn? I  _need_ popcorn right now.”

Axel plops next to him, already chewing some. He passes the bowl. “You can thank me later.”

Len raises an eyebrow at them, but they don’t move an inch. He has a nest made of weirdos and Lisa. Scratch that—he has a nest of weirdos.

“Is that my popcorn?” Mark thunders.

“You snooze you loose,” Axel sing-songs.

Fortunately, Barry chooses that moment to take his fangs out of Len’s arm and lick the wound clean as it heals. His iron grip loosens, and Len settles for winding around his waist as he slumps against him, panting. Damn, but his Rogues were right—Barry looks like he just got fucked.

Len tears the blood pack open with his fang. “Better?” he asks, gulping it down. 

Barry nuzzles his neck, humming. He’ll be out of it for a few more minutes. Until then, he’ll let Len hold him to his heart’s content.

This Saturday’s looking up.


	3. Cleanliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> magicotakusauce asked: Prompt: Vampire!Len and Vampire!Barry sharing blood from a single blood bag. But, they don't pass the bag between each other or use it at the same time. No. Len takes blood from it first, then shares it with Barry through a kiss. Messy but extremely intimate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GORE SO MUCH GORE
> 
> MENTIONS OF RAPE, BUT THE RAPIST GETS WHAT'S COMING TO HIM
> 
> WHICH IS WHERE THE GORE COMES IN
> 
> DID I MENTION GORE???

Len supposes he only has himself to blame for falling in love with a human who had a severe justice complex and daddy issues that, while not even close to reaching his level, still impacted his life on a larger scale than others. Sure, his Barry accepted the change, but he keeps refusing to feed.

“I won’t harm innocent people,” he snaps, even as he curls into himself, aching from starvation. The moron.

Fortunately for Barry, Len isn’t one to let the good things in his existence slip through his fingers so easily. Central City’s alive tonight, and he intends to find something his mate will find suitable.

A whimper. A snarl. Len pulls his phone from his coat pocket with a smirk.

This one’s anything but innocent.

* * *

Len hates tying people down; it reminds him too much of his wretched Sire. Nevertheless, it’s become a necessity for Barry. Newborns are hard to manage on their own—add one who somehow manages to keep an iron grip on his humanity and you’ve got a serious problem on your hands.

Although, if Len’s completely honest with himself—a rare occurrence, but not impossible—he’s relieved that Barry is still  _Barry_ , the enthusiastic youth he’d met at the museum just two years ago. Even now, as Len drags the whimpering bastard by his broken arm into the bedroom, Barry bucks against his bonds and snarls, but he refuses to so much as look at Len’s offering. He’s closing his eyes, breathing through his mouth, after nearly a week without blood.

Barry Allen is a wonder.

Lisa, though visibly worried for her new brother, mindfully gives Len a curt nod and leaves the room. She’s hardly left Barry’s side—never much of a caretaker, but she shares Len’s love for chosen family, and Barry’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Len since Lewis dragged her into his room when they were newborns themselves. Len returns her gesture.

Once the door closes, he reaches the bed. Barry’s eyelids flutter; his pupils are dilated, glowing red irises thin rings encompassed by hungry black. His nostrils flare—he knows the blood’s close.

Tugging his phone from his coat pocket, Len cups the back of Barry’s head and opens his pictures. “This one’s a rapist,” he says plainly, scrolling through the few photos he snapped with his speed before yanking the wretch from his victim. “Hardly an innocent, wouldn’t you say?”

Len pockets his phone. In one fluid motion, he swipes two fingers across the animal’s bleeding arm— taking just a few drops from the exposed bone—and gently rubs it across Barry’s pale lips. Try as he might to resist, Barry’s jaw yawns open, pained noises escaping his raw throat as his fangs force their way out.

A heady sense of triumph rushes through Len on the crashing wave of pure  _relief_ as Barry tentatively licks long his bottom lip.

“Are you ready to stop this nonsense, Barry?” he asks as evenly as he can. Barry replies by fighting against his straps again—this time with intent. “Now, now, I’ve gone through all this trouble. The least you can do is give me something in return.” A faint inquisitive whine. “Chill out—what I have in mind is hardly a chore.”

Len methodically peels off his clothes, not bothering to fold them before tossing them over a nearby chair. Next, he lifts the animal one-handed.

Barry jolts at the sight. “Ah-ah-ah,” Len teases, “patience.”

A knife would be useful, but at this point, Len just wants Barry to smile again. So he opts to just use his bare hand. With a rush of cold air, the vampire’s hand breaks into the creature’s stomach, easily ignoring the cries of pain. His blood saturates the room now, but Len’s far from done. After he’s made a clear wound, he uses his significant strength to cut through the flesh, all the way up to the throat. Blood and organs splatter all over him, drizzling onto Barry, who nearly chokes from the assault to his senses.

As soon as that’s done, Len changes his grip. He takes hold of the animal’s spine with both hands, letting the blood and flesh splatter over his skin before sinking his teeth into the jugular. The screams die off.

Len drinks until he has a mouthful of blood. Then and only then does he allow the fresh corpse to drop with a dull  _thump_.

Quickly as he can, he unlocks Barry. All it takes is a beckoning gesture before Barry’s on him, sealing their mouths over each other and letting the blood spill into his eager mouth. Len’s so happy and relieved, he even lets his mate pin him to the mattress.

“C’mon Scarlet,” he smirks, bloody from head to toe, “clean me up.”

Finally, Barry doesn’t have to be told twice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
